


History Will Hate Us (But They'll Never Forget Our Names)

by gunboots



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brief mentions of torture, F/M, Gen, M/M, fade to black mentions of violence, illya and victoria are evil jaded despots au, napoleon is the one who ruins it all, the one where illya and victoria are stepsiblings, victoria vinciguerra is a queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunboots/pseuds/gunboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s lovely, just as beautiful as you are Madam Vinciguerra—you must be so proud.” Illya’s glower is instant, and Victoria gives an equally charming titter. She is proud, but not for the reasons Mr. Deveny must be thinking.</p><p>Illya, after all, was the one who taught her how to fire a gun.</p><p>She raised him well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	History Will Hate Us (But They'll Never Forget Our Names)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [csoru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/csoru/gifts).



> Primary motivation for this fic came from this pic from instagram:
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://gyazo.com/15fec60b264f24a16b4b274d8d9e7245)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> And also the fact that Elizabeth Debicki and Armie Hammer are super good bros in rl and it is the cutest thing in the world. Also this kind morphed from standard 'modern hipster despots au' to a fanfic about Victoria and Illya growing up together in the collapse of the Soviet Union and just very Victoria-centric. The whole 'illya was seized by the government to be trained as a super spy' idea is totally from Armie Hammer's headcanon about Illya and the KGB. 
> 
> A million thank yous to [csoru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/csoru) for cheerleading/keeping me sane at my cubicle at 5 am as we scream about Armie Hammer: golden retriever gijinka. Also thanks to [furiosity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/furiosity) for the quick Russian help <333.
> 
> Tried to edit/spellcheck/grammarcheck the best I could but there are probs a ton of mistakes my bad. Title from Lolo's 'Hit and Run' which was like my Victoria Kuryakin-Vinciguerra anthem tbh.

Victoria is seven, Illya is three.

Victoria is isolated and alone, her Russian is barely understandable. Reserved isn't a part she plays for joy, its necessity. What she can say isn't what she wants to, so she decides her words carefully and with intent. Planning and plotting them like a chess master preparing to make her move. She is her father's daughter even as he drags her far to the east. Away from rainy gloom of the family estate, away from everyone and everything that once carried her mother's specter with it.But she is Victory, she is seven and she understands sacrifices must be made for success.

Illya is constantly surrounded by nursemaids and different servants. He babbles, but his words are endless and understood. He is his father's joy, his mother's pride. He is a squalling, chubby thing that latches onto Victoria's hand when they're introduced. Their parents applaud the attachment and she chafes. She pinches his hand and he wails, big fat tears falling down his cheeks. But he never lets go.

Victoria is seven, Illya is three.

But she is no longer alone.

\---

His name is Jack Deveny and he assures Victoria that he can steal anything her heart desires. She’s instantly suspicious, but she smiles and acts every inch the spoiled trophy wife. He’s too put together, too theatrical, and though he’s disarming there’s something about him that seems too much like a predator trying to play at pet. She’s more than fairly certain he’s not even on the guest list for their party, but lets him continue on his charade. After all, men like this didn’t just appear out of nowhere, lounging on the couch next to her like he owned the place.

“You do understand Mr.Jack, I’m not exactly sure what you can offer that others can’t.” It’s a challenge wrapped up in a flirtation, the party continues to bustle around them even as she keeps her gaze sharp under kohl-rimmed eyes. Jack laughs, and it’s just as perfect and full-bodied as any actor’s.

“I can assure you, Madam Vinciguerra—I’m one of a kind.” Victoria knows the exact moment that Jack spots Illya behind her. Most people would have paused completely, but his expressions are perfectly schooled, if not for the slight flicker of interest that he doesn’t exactly hide and she files it away for later.

“—Victoria, Contessa wants to have word with you.” Illya interrupts though his tone already suggests that the Contessa probably tried to have more than just a ‘word’ with him. Again. But Illya is an adult and can handle himself even if he struggles to escape more often than not. No, Illya must be referring to business matters. She gives an almost sigh.

“We wouldn’t want to keep our dear guest waiting.” It’s as good as an exit as any, but she knows that she won’t be rid of Jack Deveny and his curious timing any time soon. Besides, there was something about that look that seemed more genuine than the entire meeting. “Илюшка, do me a favor and please keep Mr. Deveny company, I have a feeling we’ll be keeping contact.”

Illya’s look speaks volumes, but she holds out her hand for him to help her up. He does so with no small amount of reluctance. “My dearest apologies, Mr. Jack—do enjoy yourself at my party. My little brother is wonderful company.” She says, even as Illya’s body language screams uncomfortable. Jack takes Illya’s outright disdain with enthusiasm as he sends her another charming smile back.

“He’s lovely, just as beautiful as you are Madam Vinciguerra—you must be so proud.” Illya’s glower is instant, and she gives an equally charming titter. She is proud, but not for the reasons he must be thinking.

Illya, after all, was the one who taught her how to fire a gun.

She raised him well.

\---

Illya’s father is arrested a week after his sixth birthday, Victoria’s father and Illya’s mother marry a month later.

Victoria doesn’t notice much of a difference. Illya is a constant at her side anyways, and she has nothing unkind to say about Illya’s mother. (Her own mother is barely a memory, more legend than actual person at this point. England itself is a far off once-lived dream.) It makes it all that much simpler for her to care for Illya. Illya, who doesn’t understand the tangled web that their parents try to weave of allegiances and accusations all tinged in brittle desperation.

She doesn’t understand it either, but she is the older one and she is responsible for him.

She pretends she does whenever he asks.

\---

Victoria proclaims that she feels ‘faint’ from the party’s excitement and excuses herself after an hour. Managing a criminal empire is a lot less exciting than one can imagine, and most of the time it ends in her having to dictate on repeat where her pawns and bishops need to go. There’s a mess with some of the new smart missiles they’re trying to smuggle in and there’s another urgent problem with some overachieving police officer _not_ on her payroll discovering a shipment of narcotics that technically could be traced back to their port at the very least and their boats at the very most.

All in all, she spends most of the party in her office and by the time she finally hangs up after dictating precisely and carefully what to do with this next week’s shipment it’s almost two a.m.

It’s at that time that Illya storms into the room.

He looks beyond irate, practically murderous. She hasn’t seen such strong vitriol from him in a while.

“I do not like him.” Illya declares in a tone that would be ‘sulking’ on any other person. “He was proud, rude, and would not stop talking to me.”

“That’s not very polite of you Илюшка.” Victora says but she’s far from admonishing, instead she considers him for a moment. “But I agree, his timing was a little too fortunate—he must be hiding something.”

“ _Да_ then it is even more reason to tell him to leave.”

“Now, now—we can use him. See what he knows, see what we can dig up about him.” Victoria rises up from her chair to stretch her arms in fluid motion, “We’ll see what Mr. Jack can do for us, won’t we?”

\---

It’s not that Victoria is power hungry—it’s just that she knows what happens in the absence of it completely.

She’d been taught this lesson early on when her father, powerless and desperate, took his new wife and his daughter out of Russia in exchange for his step-son. Her father’s cowardice, his complete abandonment of pride, his inability to protect his family--fleeing with his head held low all disgusted her.

She knows the price Illya had to pay so they could leave—knew that he was taken in to be made a weapon, to do what was needed for the country that took his family from him—it was a far greater than what her father did.

What disgusted her the most, was not only that she’d been powerless to stop it, but that her father had surrendered it all without her consent. She could do nothing but watch as the men in uniform dragged Illya away.

No.

Victoria would never feel that helpless again—she would burn before she would ever beg. If anything she considers this all granting herself and Illya insurance.

\---

Jack find his (more like outright intrudes really) way into a brunch for close family and friends two days later. Illya is less than thrilled at his appearance, but doesn’t say anything even though he looks like he desperately wants to.

“Now he’s just being obstinate.” Victoria says after Jack presents her with an opulent antique necklace that is dripping diamonds, emeralds and pearls—the gold looks properly restored. Somewhere a museum has lost its star attraction. 

She accepts the gift and the response to her challenge graciously as Illya chafes at the way Jack winks at him.

And ah, she underestimated him—Jack Deveny is perfectly aware she and everyone else can see his true interest.

He’s just paying respects to the obstacles in his way and his future employer.

She is impressed despite herself.

\---

Illya tolerates Alexander, Alexander keeps up the impression of ‘familial’ if only because he knows it would upset Victoria otherwise. Illya is solitary by choice, busy with managing what he can of their growing empire (because honestly Alexander just did not have much to him besides a foolish sense of loyalty and all of his father’s lovely money—if anything her husband was more disciple than partner).

It’s precisely due to infamy of Illya’s solitude that Jack’s actions are striking, even though he is ever her dutiful employee. Illya seems irritated at the sudden intrusion in his life, but that’s Illya—he’s never been one for change. He’s only ever had just her and then he didn’t and now that he’s back he seems hell-bent on keeping the status quo.

She knows her brother, knows that he still thinks Jack is merely attempting to get close to her. Jack, who reports to her personally and steals all that she demands—but doesn’t respond to her open flirtations quite like Illya’s pointed put-downs.

It's not her that Jack Deveny is interested in at all—and Illya has yet to see it.

\---

After Victoria’s father passes, she adopts a new last name.

Her father’s name is useless and shameful and Illya’s mother raises her where he failed.

Illya’s mother teaches her the importance of batting your eyes and playing coy.

She barely knew Illya’s father, but Victoria takes his name because it is the same as her step-mother’s. The same mother that teaches her how women fight, how they survive and how they protect what they can with what they can—she holds the name ‘Kuryakin’ like a badge of honor.

\---

At their mother’s funeral, Illya finds her with that name—appearing like a ghost summoned from the grave.

He is taller, stronger too, and so very world-weary. Even though he is so much bigger than her now, he holds her hand throughout the entire service and swears that he will not leave her side again—that she is all he has.

Years and different continents later, he is still her Илюшка.

\---

For all his initial hesitation, Illya warms up to Jack’s forceful (for nothing about him is gentle despite appearances and that probably endears Illya the most) courtship. It’s been barely a month but this is the closest thing to love that she’s seen Illya give to anyone that wasn’t immediate family.

Alexander makes smart comments about how they should’ve probably sent for suave Americans sooner but her expression chills the laughter right in his throat. Jack has quickly wormed his way into more gatherings now, is a staple next to her brother even when they travel and there’s something too…perfect about it all.

It feels too much like a fairytale how easily the elegant art thief has stolen her brother’s heart. The way the tension in Illya’s shoulders eases, the way his eyes soften, the slight way he searches for Jack in the crowd and from all that Victoria has ever seen of love…this feels too formulaic.

Victoria knows, from their lives and from their experiences that they’re not meant for happy endings—something is amiss.

Her instincts have never steered her wrong before, and she wasn’t about to doubt them now.

She puts in a word with all the right people who hold all the information she needs and she waits.

If it’s nothing, then she’ll step aside…

And if it’s not…then, she despairs that nothing she can think of would be punishment enough. Illya doesn’t trust easy, Illya doesn’t love easy and Illya has already been through enough—if the American is not who he claims to be...

Well, she’s more than prepared to make an example of him.

\---

The night before Victoria marries Alexander; she feigns illness and disappears to her room after the rehearsal dinner. She’s on her second bottle of champagne when Illya finds her perched over the hotel balcony, grip steady but eyes wild.

She only remembers the world spinning and hearing glass shatter and maybe she dropped the bottle but all she cares about was trying to escape the cage. From fleeing the hell she’s seen eat two mothers alive, of painted faces and baby carriages and a tether that would always tie her down.

Illya sits her gently on the bed and spins pretty promises at her, ones that she knows he would keep as soon as she says the word—that they could leave, they could run and just keep running. She didn’t have to get married if she didn’t want to, she could escape—they both could.

And in a moment of weakness, she let his words fill her up.

But in the morning, she rises from the bed—wipes the blurred mascara from her eyes and sets her chin.

She is Victory, she is a Kuryakin, and she will do what was needed. She will turn this cage into a castle, and she will amass the power she and Illya were always denied.

\---

Illya walks her down the aisle and when he hands her to Alexander, his face is blank.

He doesn’t make eye contact with her the entire reception.

\---

A man attempts to break into the warehouse after a weapons delivery and Victoria scans the blurry surveillance videos with her posture ramrod straight and fury in her eyes. Jack Deveny shoots two of the guards as he runs past the camera.

“This is from last night?” She already knows the answer, but she wants Alexander to confirm it.

“A little after Illya’s new boyfriend disappeared from dinner. Obviously he found nothing but it was close.” And for all her hangups on Alexander (all his cheating that she tolerates, among other things) he is so painfully observant. “What do you want to do with him?”

Victoria’s smile is thin and doesn’t betray any of the malice that’s settled into her heart.

“Well now, that depends on him, now doesn’t it?”

\---

It is cruel to show Illya the footage. It is cruel to remind Illya that they knew nothing about Jack Deveny and that he was initially someone to be suspicious of. It is cruel to do it in front of Jack himself.

But this is a lesson Illya needs to learn.

This cruelty is for his own benefit.

The faster he forgets about the thief, the faster he can go back to his life. Illya takes the news with less grace than she did—he’s just as angry, but where she is cold, contained hatred, he is a firestorm. He is hot boiling rage that must burn everything in its path.

Jack Deveny, clever imposter, escapes by throwing himself out the window. She expects Illya to give chase but he watches the other fall, breathing heavy and anger almost a tangible presence around him. There’s no tell-tale thud of a body hitting the pavement outside, but their compound is heavily fortified and the guards have already been alerted. Jack Deveny, or whoever he truly is, will not be escaping anytime soon.

“I…I thought he understood me.” Is all Illya says into the silence, and instantly she knows that his heart has been broken. “He lied.”

“They do that Илюшка, liars always lie.”

\---

Jack is chained to a chair when she sees him next, and she kisses Alexander’s cheek in thanks before closing the storage door behind her.

Two men are already behind her, and in the dim light she watches him passively for a moment.

“Before I kill you, Mr. Jack. Would you be so kind as to tell me who employed you and what they could possibly want with me and my family?” She doesn’t bother sitting across from him, only continues to stare down at him, feeling like a reaper about to pass judgement.

“Where's Illya?” Victoria nods towards the guard to her right, there’s a satisfying crack of bone meeting metal and Jack lets out a harsh wheeze.

“I don’t think you should trouble yourself with my brother anymore. You’re really only delaying the inevitable and I’m rather short on patience you see.” She continues on, tone casual. “Tell me who you work for and I won’t have to be forced to break your kneecaps next.”

“It was a mistake.”

Victoria makes a face and signals to the guard once more, the echo of bones splintering fills the storage shed as Jack swallows down a curse.

“We can continue like this till you run out of body parts but I’m already getting bored.” Victoria says, leaning against the metal table in front of her, mindful of the blood on the surface. “Who do you work for and why did you target us?”

Jack looks at her, his face has patchwork colors of bruises and his nose is broken but it’s still too whole for her tastes. She fights back the instinct to snarl at how put together he is even at her hands.

“My name is Napoleon Solo. The CIA sent me—they’re investigating your shipping company and I’m supposed to seize the plans you stole to build smart weapons.” He finally reveals, sagging against the chair. “This mission was only supposed to take a week.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“I was supposed to seduce you and leave with the plans.” Napoleon looks exasperated despite the circumstances. “Illya was not…I didn’t realize what was happening till it was too late.”

The sudden sentimentality makes her far more furious than the rest of his confession.

“You expect me to believe you fell in love with my brother, Napoleon?” She spits with far more venom than she intended. “That you sabotaged your own mission to keep him safe?”

“You caught me didn’t you?” Napoleon sounds like he is in disbelief himself, like he knows that he’s damned himself just to keep Illya alive. “My handler realized something was wrong—that I was intentionally prolonging the mission—I needed you to capture me—throw him off before he sent reinforcements.”

“You’re telling me that you did all this for Illya?” She can’t help but laugh and it burns her throat like whiskey but it comes from her lips all the same. “Do you think he can forgive you now? After what you’ve done?”

Napoleon meets her gaze and there is far more emotion in his eyes than she has ever seen from him.

“It doesn’t matter if he forgives me. He’s safe now—that’s all I care about. I already know how this ends Madam Vinciguerra.” Napoleon declares like it’s so simple, like he’s ready to die being hated by Illya and she’s horrified to realize that he means every word. “There’s no such thing as a happy ending for our kind.”

It's lunacy, or maybe it's something else entirely that makes Victoria pull out her cellphone from her purse and hold it out to him. She tries to console herself that this is the worst fate she can think of, a way to call his bluff and leave him to die disgraced and hated.

“Burn yourself—reveal your cover publicly and  everything you know about the CIA.” She smiles at him, knowing this is the deepest cut she can give. “After that, we’ll leave you outside near town—if Illya does love you back, he’ll rescue you before the CIA take their revenge. If he doesn’t well, you won’t have long to regret your decision, now will you?”

Napoleon looks incredulous, almost desperate and truly this is torture, she knows what she’s demanding from him. He will be a known man, he will lose whatever protection his government must have for him and he will be hunted for as long as he is living.

She hopes that she is wrong. That Illya will be upset, will not forgive, will let this sentimental fool die at his own country’s hands.

Napoleon looks back at the phone and then back at her. His voice does not waver.

“Dial this number.”

\---

Napoleon Solo is shot three times and Illya twice before they make it back to the compound.

Victoria didn’t even tell her brother about the wager, but she’s disappointed to find him carrying Napoleon on his back as he limps through the gate all the same.

Her jaw sets as Alexander calls for the family doctor.

\---

Napoleon Solo is cautious around her, deservedly so.

She’s not sure if Illya even forgives him yet, but the way that Napoleon is recuperating in Illya’s room is probably answer enough.

“Please don’t make the mistake of assuming this means you have the luxury of my trust.” She greets primly, making sure to wait till she has Napoleon alone and Illya suitably distracted to confront him. Napoleon doesn't bother to hide the hostility in his eyes.

“Did I ever really Madam Vinciguerra?” He returns, voice biting. He'll hate her till the end and she is glad.

“Well done.” She says and it occurs to her that maybe she and Napoleon Solo perhaps had a bit more in common than expected. She tries not to dwell on that unfortunate observation too deeply. “I can see why Illya likes you, you are clever aren’t you?”

Napoleon’s own response is a paint-stripping look of displeasure that she ignores graciously.

"Terrible choice for an in-law you are."

**Author's Note:**

> Please talk to me about Man from Uncle and Armie Hammer, my thirst is eternal:  
> @ [twitter](https://twitter.com/badtouches)  
> @ [tumblr](http://gunboots.tumblr.com/)


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